Broken Home
by RiptideZ
Summary: "Our most dangerous enemies are the ones that we cannot see and do not know exist - and they will bring us to our knees." - Admiral Nathaniel Lincoln, SHD Informant.
1. Dark Winter

Broken Home is a piece of fiction I've been throwing around in the back of my mind for the last two years since its announcement. Since buying the Division game, this story became more solid in design and became Broken Home. It originally was known as "First Wave" but since has been changed.

There a few major points I want to establish Broken Home from its source fiction and apart from its counterparts in the Division Fandom. Broken Home breaks from established canon and seeks to create a realistic world that could potentially exist in our world. Another goal is to explore the lives of Division Agents and show who they really are and finally to give the game the Clancy treatment; the game while good doesn't do the brand justice and I want to respect the late Tom Clancy. Expect to see a number of Clancy references in this story, some subtle and others apparent. Please do read and review.

…

 **Welcome to "Broken Home," a non-profit fan-produced fiction product under the ownership of set penname: RiptideZ.**

 **DISCLAIMER: All intellectual property revealed in this work belongs to their rightful owner(s). RiptideZ, the author, owns only that of his intellectual assets. Please Read and Critique constructively via private messaging or review.**

…

 **["Dark Winter"]**

 **[Summer 2008]**

…

" ** _We live in a complex world; and the more complex it gets, the more fragile it becomes…We've created a house of cards, remove just one [function of modern society] and everything falls apart."_** **– Directive Head of Operation: Dark Winter Simulation, After-Action Report, 2001**

…

In 2001, the American society was changed drastically. Some changes were for worse and others were for the better.

Among these drastic transformations was the creation of the newest executive department created by the President of the time. The Department of Homeland Security tasked with the protection and security of American society from threats within and without.

Fears and stigma birthed post Nine-Eleven only further radicalized the American population, and thus, security in one of those rare moments in United States History, trumped personal freedoms. It was a startling and sudden change that continued with further tightening of American laws in the name of national security. The new issues brought on by the September Eleventh Attacks also became numerous with time. The increasing segmentation and rampant suspicion between segments of the population. The rising threat of international terrorism and the Global War on Terror. Intrusion into people's privacy became a normality and numerous other issues that only began to scratch the surface of new problems created by a few sects of political extremism.

Before Nine-Eleven however, a secret government simulation that tested the United States' response to a bioterror plot against the United States took place. The threat: a released smallpox strain into major American population centers. The simulation quickly revealed a loss of control and an ensuing period of chaotic anarchy. The government was not oriented to prepare for such a threat and the simulation already spelled out the worst case scenario, a total collapse of American society and infrastructure. The simulated attack, known as Operation: Dark Winter, established a doomsday scenario that was very deadly and very much real.

There was nothing the American government could do at the time of the simulation. The age old stockpile of smallpox vaccines, live samples, and collected antibodies would do little to protect a population numbering in the hundreds of millions that hadn't been vaccinated for the extinct virus for the better half of fifty years. It was a hopeless case and at some point in the simulation, the government experienced a change of mind from prevention to survival and containment.

The population was just too big and the threats capable of producing such catastrophic losses became countless as time went on. With the rise of technology, the hands that held the knowledge and resources necessary to build bioweapons became more plentiful reflecting the period following World War Two when nuclear fission technology ran unchecked between nations. Besides unchecked nuclear threats, there were a number of other security nightmares as time went on: global warming, electromagnetic pulses, and other less notable issues. One of those more potent and immediate nightmares was the threat of a very real Dark Winter.

The US government, following the test of the simulation, found that survival was favorable to failed containment. The President of the United States would go on to sign in 2007, the Presidential Directive Fifty-one, which outlined the government's response to a number of possible doomsday scenarios. Notably, it's mostly classified nature made it impossible to tell how it would coordinate with more aged response plans outlined by other branches of government or other national agencies.

Only days away from the 2008 Beijing Olympics in China and at the height of a presidential race, Captain Nathaniel Lincoln of the United States Navy found himself seated in an undisclosed meeting room at the White House among a secret Presidential Crisis Response Committee. Among its members were key military and intelligence players in the Federal government, a coffee shop gathering larger than the National Security Council with a more detailed fixture on responding to security threats posed by hypothetical attacks.

The PCRC, or "Picker's Group" as it was known among the President's inner circle, was an advisory committee designed to discuss and provide feedback on national response plans. The group did not set policy, but it did give the President and his staff of analysts, space to eliminate unseen holes in their plans.

The Captain would have preferred to be on shore leave with his wife in Bermuda or on his way to visit Beijing as a private citizen and tourist rather than here. He would have preferred even active duty, playing glorified pirate chaser off the Somali Coast on his Aegis destroyer. This meeting wasn't on his bucket list but he served at the request of the President as his Commander-in-Chief, a call he could not easily deny. Lincoln was an older man but he had a youthful mind that the President believed could serve the country well as it had in war.

To say that Captain Lincoln was young was false by a long margin but neither was he really old. Lincoln was a twenty-year veteran in the United States Navy, long since reaching one of the highest attainable ranks in the Fleet. Even with his age, the experienced seaman still had a bit of youth in him and he planned to use every last bit of it in the service of his country. At one time, he might have settled for the unexciting life of a college English professor but after so many years in the Fleet, there just wasn't anywhere else he would have preferred to be. He was a sailor at heart, through and through.

The committee at this time had been more laid back with its professionalism as discussion had become an open house except for the occasional input from the intelligence analyst at the head of the table. The analyst, some paper-pusher from Central Intelligence, was responsible for the presentation of declassified war plans and crisis simulations for the advisory committee. Among this meeting's subjects was a new topic that the Captain had never seen before in detail, Dark Winter. The topic had been tossed around at domestic intelligence briefs and there had been a few high-ranking members of the government that had approached Lincoln on the subject in the recent past.

"As the President remembers, the after-action report predicted a rapid breakdown in essential institutions such as the overwhelming conditions placed on medical and security facilities at the state level. There would be subsequent civil disorder – mass looting, warzone-like conditions in major population centers, and rampant lawlessness. We can't even describe projected civilian casualties besides expecting them to number in the millions. The simulation director only had one word to describe the death toll back in '01—massive." The CIA analyst stated to the assembled military, intelligence, and federal leaders on the committee. The young man looked menacing in the low lighting of the smoky room.

Something to be understood by anyone related to the foreign intelligence community, they always had a certain air that ebbed from them, as if they were going to dissect you, kind of like a medical shrink. Any coordination with their field agents often sent shivers down Lincoln's back, as he remembered each encounter well. As much as they were presented as evil government thugs like the old KGB, they weren't anywhere as bad; it just so happened that anything they touched seemed to be immediately tainted. It was a military thing.

Lincoln watched as a few diagrams revealed statistical data that he had little reason to care for as he sipped his Pepsi. While most meetings with the President or most regulated meetings left little room for condiments or daily pleasures, this meeting seemed more simplistic and straightforward left the men and women in the room sipping soda pop and eating away at trail mix. The meeting could be easily considered impromptu.

The overhead statistical data wasn't within Lincoln's own interests because he knew when a problem was a problem, a sort of intuition shortcut to the logical answer. He was more interested in solving the problem than listening to scientists discuss the finer points to problems without considering the solutions. He was a problem-solver, not a politician or a scientist. He did not have the time to discuss the smallest details to every problem. His age also a factor, if he had been a little younger, he would have paid more attention. His reasoning, he knew, was a doubled-edge sword but the Picker's Group existed for the sake of evaluating problems and solutions from many different viewpoints.

"Commander, the simulation is already appeared out of date because if I'm understanding this: the simulation was not repeated or reassessed. It's been more or less seven years since its execution. Should we not consider a few more trials so that we might get some better chorographical data? I'm not satisfied that such a test, designed for the Federal government to fail is a worthy test bed, as a proper measure of our nation's response capacity." One of the newer members of the committee, some young Army brat from West Point still wet behind the ears. The West Point Officer was a member of the prestigious US War College and an ego the size of Rhode Island if his classmates' words had any merit.

The Captain didn't like the Army officer, though, he could not deny the kid was right. Wasn't it wrong to stack the fates against the government as if it were incapable of preventing a massive death toll on American soil?

The analyst seemed to take the challenge as a personal insult and evened out his glasses in a cartoonish way that only made him seem more menacing. The next words out of the CIA paper-pusher struck a chord through the room. "What if I told you the odds have always been stacked against us? Tell me that all the times all our security measures and all our technology have failed to protect our precious lives and infrastructure were just a fluke. Tell me the thousands of lives lost at the violence taken by Islamic extremist groups were all a miscommunication. Tell me that invading every single nation on the planet with a major of Muslim population for the next half century will solve terrorism. Tell me that is the solution we've come up with and ignore all the facts suggesting that is not the case. Tell me that all the evidence that our security measures and technology are not adequate enough to stop the foreign threats from making landfall on our shores is false. Some of those attackers aren't even foreigners, they can be American citizens. We created the Department of Homeland Security to monitor all threats, foreign and domestic. Do I feel safe now, knowing that I'm being watched or I'm doing the watching? No, it makes me feel worse because from what I'm seeing it doesn't work. The test was designed to test the government's ability to adapt to the aftermath of such an event, not to prevent the attack."

The analyst went silent and stared down at the Army officer who simply scoffed, rolled his eyes and slumped back into his chair. He almost shut himself down as if the argument was not worth his time but for a second he seemed to have a spark of intuition, a spectacular mind at work. The West Point grad took the initiative, "I cannot deny that there is a possibility that we may fail. However, I don't want our fate to be decided without proof that we are doomed. The United States is one of the most secure and safe countries on the planet, besides the number of failures we've had. Terrorism is certainly a dire threat but it's also a problem we don't fully understand nor are we capable of solving at this time. You're Central Intelligence, you should know that."

The analyst seemed to stop and actually consider the West Pointer's statement. "You're right, I'll hand it to you. We don't know fully how to combat and eventually eliminate it as a threat. It's still too new for us to fully comprehend. However, I would like to bring our focus back to Dark Winter. The point of Dark Winter is to consider the government's response, not the initial event because we expect ourselves to fail. We know from our experience of espionage from the Cold War and terrorism today that there are too many holes for us to plug. Operation: Dark Winter is about the contingency, not the prevention plan because that is one of the problems the CIA is not able to handle. We deal with international threats, not domestic. It only takes a potential enemy one good attempt to succeed. Prevention would have to pass on to a more public group that can organize prevention measures. I'm willing to consider more attempts and variations of the simulation but that would have to be discussed later."

The room was quiet as the young analyst looked toward the President in the back of the room and bored into him. The President, a graduate of Yale and a native Texan, just hummed in affirmation of the analyst's lecture. He had already signed Directive Fifty-One a year before and outlined a basic number of plans to respond to future crises. His time in the office was drawing to a close.

The President addressed both the West Pointer and the CIA analyst, "Both camps are correct in their statements. We should not doubt our own capabilities to prevent disaster. We need more tests, but we also cannot deny the eventually that our foes will succeed and we need contingencies in case that occurs. Again, we need more tests. Those tests, however, are expensive and require necessary personnel and funding. I cannot guarantee a blank check in the next few months since the budget already passed Congress and I won't be your Commander-in-Chief for much longer. It will have to come out of the next few years and will depend on the future political climate."

The tired-looking President, even with his constantly cheery and go-lucky grin, made a show to be polite to the people that he had the most respect for in his life. His fellow veterans and his advisors who had served through the mess of 2001 till now with him. If Lincoln could describe the President's facial expression, it was similar to how he would look upon his subordinates during maintenance hours. A proud leader overlooking his men with pride.

"Thank you again for coming. All of you; I hope your trips back are joyful enough and I thank you all for your input. We should be able to clean up a bit of the bureaucracy in Homeland Security within the next year. I would like the Joint Chiefs to remain behind along with my intelligence advisors. Everyone else is relieved, if you need anything else for the road, just ask the Secret Service gentlemen at the lobby. They can get you what you need. Once this is over, I'm seeing those Olympics."

The President stood up and slowly, maybe a bit overdramatic, saluted his advisors. The room's occupants quickly replied in a similar gesture. From there the majority of the room was vacated leaving only the President's circle of major advisors of the National Security Council. They spoke in soft voices and would motion toward the leaving crowd, something only Lincoln noticed.

One of the Admirals was watching the younger Captain intently as the doors closed behind him. That final match of eye contact still ran shivers down Lincoln's back as he approached the exit.

Before the Captain could make it out and into the sunny hallways of the government building, Lincoln was quickly pulled aside by some Secret Service agents and led to another conference hall in the government building. No words were traded between the guards and the naval officer. At the head of a large table, the Secretary of Homeland Security sat, looking out a window overlooking a grassy green lawn. At the sound of the Secret Service closing the door behind Lincoln as he entered the conference room, the Secretary turned to face Lincoln.

"Captain Lincoln. Thank you for seeing me, sorry about the weird transition from the committee." The older man marched over to Lincoln and briskly shook his hand in mutual respect.

Lincoln didn't really seem to understand the circumstances and was still blinking at the change from the War Room brief to an empty conference room, it was like being in college all over again. The lectures and the constant moving of classrooms. He simply nodded in recognition of the Secretary's greeting. He took a seat next to the Secretary who returned to his chair at the head of the table.

"I'll cut to the chase. Before the President is replaced in the next election, he wants to make a number of promotions. Including yours, a little early congratulation from myself, if you will. For your promotion to Rear Admiral in the coming weeks. I'm assuming you've already been groomed for the job and have been given a wide berth from command duties in Somalia?"

"Yes, sir. I've been on administrative leave for the last week and a half. I was interested in going to see the Olympics with my wife soon but I don't know if I will have the time to go visit Beijing."

"I got a hold of your file. You've got another good two weeks before you're needed back in the office so you got all the time in the world for personal fun, at least if no emergencies arise. When you get back; you remember the SHD offer?"

"Yes, the recruits you mean?" Lincoln nodded at the Secretary with a slow bob as if to convey more than he was willing to state.

"Yeah, I don't expect you to be able to throw in any dossiers anytime soon since you're not of rank but do start considering. It's of some importance for future operations in case of future crisis, for example, today's discussion of Dark Winter."

"Why military anyway? You never mentioned that when we last discussed this over the phone."

"Why Captain? Isn't the answer quite obvious? The military always makes the better survivors." The Secretary grinned wolfishly.

The incoming Admiral just stared at the man in cautious curiosity. He wasn't sure what that meant but he knew what the military recruitment was about. The Strategic Homeland Division, SHD, outlined in the President's emergency Directive, needed effective field agents to meet their mission objectives of protecting society in times of panic. While there wasn't exactly an accurately nice term to describe the job description, the men and women they were seeking were something reminiscent of the Cold War and Big Brother conspiracies.

The Department of Homeland Security, the parent company for SHD, wanted Sleeper Cells; agents that responded to the orders of their government from within their own populations without anyone knowing of their existence. Such a thought in the olden days would have been written off as insane and accounts on par with treason. Now the times were different, the world was a different place. A more desperate place. After all, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"You got any individuals you have in mind? Like a quota or something so I have a good example of who I should be picking?"

The Secretary stopped to give Lincoln's question a thought. The politician lazily traced the letters S, H, and D into the hardwood table spelling out the company acronym as if in a stupor. It was a meaningless act but it helped reflect the importance of the Secretary's request. This agency would have a jurisdiction in unknown territory.

After a bit of time to consider, the Secretary gave his answer, this time frowning at the thought. "This new agency is going into some unknown territory and is covering jurisdictions we have never taken. A few years ago, our actions would have been called out as authoritarian and we would have been out of the White House faster than you could blink. Everyone, not just the President's staff but the majority of the US government. We would have an uprising on our hands because by doing this we are most probably breaking the very laws we promised to follow and uphold as lawmakers and as its defenders. The SHD, outlined by the President, goes against every foundational belief we hold sacred as Americans. It's more or less betrayal, however, it has come to the point that it is necessary and while there could be an argument made that we are overreaching in our duty to execute our oaths of office, there is no written law that prevents us from creating the SHD."

"You're telling me we're committing treason? You know what we're talking about here, right? Establishing sleeper agents in our own population and breaking whatever moral boundary we have had. We crossed a line when the President signed the Directive, but I didn't know it was this bad!"

"Calm down Nathaniel. I feel the same way but we're not living in the nineties, the Soviets have long passed and we don't have a clear threat any longer. Instead of one big one, we got a bunch of small ones capable of doing a lot of damage. You can't even count how many threats exist because we don't know all of them and there are ones we don't even know that exist. You're a Captain, you don't have to sit through the NSC meetings and hear about a new terrorist group popping up out of nowhere. This is the world we live in now. There isn't anything we can do to change it but we can adapt; you don't understand that feeling of everyone being a potential threat. That the common Joe on the street could be the next mass murderer in suburban America. It keeps me up at night Captain and I'm only adapting to the world I live in."

Captain Lincoln just stared at the Secretary in front of him, appalled. He didn't like where this conversation was going but really what was driving him insane was that deep down, he knew that the Secretary was right. The world was a different place and they were now just playing catch-up to the times. The world wasn't a pretty place and it was probably more dangerous than it had ever been. There was nothing the Captain could do about it.

"So…I guess there isn't much to say beyond that. Who would you like me to recruit?" Lincoln said finally recollecting himself.

The Secretary seemed to age a decade from the stress created by sleepless nights and terrorist threats. "We're walking into unknown territory as I said before, we don't exactly know who we need but I can give you an idea of what I personally want. There are a number of recruiters throughout the American government, now including yourself. They all have their own idea of what makes a good public servant as well as a great SHD agent. I am going to give you my version, hopefully, it's the correct idea because I don't want to screw this up because there are so many ways we can get this wrong."

The Secretary sighed to himself as the door behind the pair opened and a Secret Service agent handed the Secretary a warm coffee off the street. The female agent nodded to her superior officer, nodded to the Captain, then quickly walked out.

"See that agent, Captain?" The Secretary pointed to the agent as she disappeared behind the oak doors of the hall.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"She isn't the type of agent I want for the SHD, not by a long shot. I want people capable of autonomy but are capable of knowing right from wrong and will stick within the boundaries of our national laws. We're fighting to preserve our way of life, not inherently change it. These agents, I'm not sure if I should call them that but that's beside the point, need to have exceptional survival skills and be physically adept. They should express moderate leadership skills and be capable of working in teams under a number of work conditions. They need to be truly loyal to the Federal government, to love American Society like no one else, and they must love our traditions like virtues. They need to be the paragon patriots we always want to be but can't be through our office."

"That's it? Kind of seems idealistic, don't you think?" Lincoln asked with a bit of doubt.

"Maybe it is, maybe I'1m wrong. I don't know, it's kind of like voting. You follow the guy that you think has the best values and you just hope he sticks to them," The Secretary of Homeland Security sighed heavily. "This, however, is the most important. They need to be age twenty-one to forty-five. We need them to be young and still capable of serving the country in either the field or in the office. If they are forty-five, we can, at least, get a shelf-life out of them for five or so years which we then retire our people at the age of fifty. Also, they need to have a degree of separation from society."

"Alright, I can see that but what do you mean separation from society?"

"I mean they need to have no ties to the world around them. Nothing that would keep them from being able to do their job in the event of a crisis. I'm willing to accept married men and women and to allow them to have lives outside the office but they need to be able to abandon it in favor of the greater mission of providing order in chaos. They cannot be tied to the lives they once had. Introverted young people are our primary recruitment pool since they provide the best combinations for building field agents, at least, based on the CIA's own recruiting process. They're more malleable to a cause since they're young and impressionable. They are in their peak state of physical and mental fitness, and this generation especially coming out of college are some of the smartest young adults this country has produced, foreign-born or otherwise."

"I may not be able to remember all of that. You want to write that down for me?" Lincoln stated slightly joking but ever more serious. It was a lot of information to take in.

"Don't worry about it. I'll have an encrypted email sent to you from one of my hush-hush servers in the Company. From there, you can communicate with just about any of the major leaders in the Fed. Myself, DoD Secretary, SHD Command, the CIA director, the Joint Chiefs, Secretary of State, the President… Don't go overboard, only use it in times of need or when you have some questions. Such as background information on potential recruits, we'll pull their medical and Social Security dossiers for you." The Secretary finished his statement and stood up. Captain Lincoln quickly followed, realizing that this conversation was over with.

"It's been good seeing you, Captain, good luck on your promotion to Rear Admiral," The Secretary shook Lincoln's hand. "And remember, this conversation never happened. We've never met beyond intelligence meetings."

Lincoln saluted silently in respect of the older man. The Secretary saluted back lazily and motioned the Captain out the door.

From here on out, Captain Nathaniel Lincoln was an informant for the Strategic Homeland Division. Another secret as a military man, he would have to take to the grave.

Lincoln whispered to himself as he stepped out into the early morning sun. "Godspeed."

Now to make plans for Beijing. A little more vacation might make him feel a bit more at ease. Within the Captain, it felt like a cold hand had just graced his aging heart.


	2. The Division

The second chapter is finally released after two major rewrites, I actually had a rough draft ready twenty-four hours after I completed Chapter One but I held off after one of my editors told me to redo it. Hopefully, this is much better. Feedback would be appreciated; thank you all.

I didn't mention this but my goal is to fill in the blanks and fix plot holes in the Division storyline and its premise. I'm going to start by setting the record straight on how the Division operates and who they are because the game does their existence a disservice. The version I present below is an extreme caused by special circumstances, I won't go into detail but some extremes are necessary for the sake of the mission.

The cover of my story is actually taken from Ghost Recon: Wildlands Concept Art with a mild addition of blood splatter to emphasize Green Poison, fun fact.

…

 **["The Division"]**

 **[Summer 2022]**

…

 _ **"This is the world we live in now. There isn't anything we can do to change it but we can adapt; you don't understand that feeling of everyone being a potential threat…It keeps me up at night Captain and I'm only adapting to the world I live in."**_ **– Secretary of Homeland Security to Captain Nathaniel Lincoln, Undocumented Conversation, 2007**

…

As children, we're told we have control of our own destinies. We're told that no one can dominate our lives or our futures as long as we take control. According to this logic, if you are to take control of who you are and set yourself on a path toward success and a life of satisfaction, nothing should go wrong. They said that your life would depend on you.

For all intents and purposes, those words were all absolutely fucking false. We've all been lied to; no matter what a person does, there will always be that one bastard that decides he can play god with the lives of others.

Andrew Blackburn had been lied to and now his whole life appeared to be cracking at the fringes. A Lieutenant in the United States Navy, son of a Chinese immigrant and an Air Force veteran, the eldest child of three; Blackburn was a young man living his life in moderate prosperity. He was considered a good-natured kid among his friends and co-workers; there was no way he was capable of stooping down to a level of criminality.

That was the general view of Blackburn, but being locked up in a prison cell for unknown reasons seemed to contradict the standing presumption, or, at least, that was what the young officer reasoned. He could not recount any crimes he had committed. The fact that he was in jail did not make any sense.

Dressed in an American-Eagle tee shirt and a pair of black boxers, Blackburn laid down across a cool wooden bench staring at the stone ceiling above. His arms were cuffed together at the wrists and there was an empty feeling in his hands from loss of circulation.

Blackburn wasn't supposed to be in prison, it just wasn't in his nature. He wasn't a thief and he wasn't a murderer. He never did anything that could warrant this; his mind was struggling to grasp this concept of doing jail time. He didn't get it.

Above the Sino-American officer, a spiraling overhead fan splashed Blackburn with gusts of cold air that sent shivers down his spine. There was no comfort in the cell as everything had been cooled to an icicle-like temperature as the officer had rolled himself into a ball to retain as much heat as he could ignoring the cold metal along his wrists. He was simply cold.

The naval officer had been trying to sleep for the last three hours but the rise of the sun had been a halt to that plan as the slit-like window revealed the blinding light of the sun in its full glory. Everything about this jail cell made Blackburn want to scream, he could do nothing but lay there and think. It was demoralizing.

How had he gotten himself into this mess? At four in the early morning, a bunch of Military Police had barged straight into his apartment dressed in black armor with combat rifles. They had snatched him from his sleep and marched out into the cool tropical night and told to ride with them back to base. From there they spoke few words to Blackburn then left him in a prison to sit.

Blackburn wanted to whimper and cry a bit but tears refused to break ground, he just wasn't the type of person to get emotional. The last time he ever seriously wept had been in his childhood.

There was a notable slam of the security gate from down the jail hall as more police arrived, escorting in another potential felon.

The guards, still dressed in black from another recent raid, marched past Blackburn without a word but their new prisoner had drawn the young man's attention. The woman in their arms had purposely gone limp in an act of defiance against her handlers as they were forced to drag her along. She was a European girl with an Asian complexion, dressed in a sports hoodie and Nike short shorts.

This was Athena Lin, a fellow naval officer, and Blackburn's current girlfriend. Her tangled chocolate-brown hair looked similar to a bird's nest and her dark eyes seemed to glow like hot coals, she was in a very bad mood.

Blackburn subtly noted that she was modestly dressed in comparison to himself suggesting that she had been given more time to get changed. Knowing the woman, Blackburn guessed that she was currently bare chested with only her underwear below her shorts. At least, she was better dressed, Blackburn really wished he had some pants right now. Athena did little to acknowledge Blackburn as she simply let the MPs drag her along to another empty cell.

Athena had been brought to the prison as well, hours after Blackburn had arrived. What was she doing here? Sure, Blackburn lacked any solid idea of why he was being held, but her arrival only added further to the young man's confusion.

Blackburn moved to sit up and get the sun out of eyes and try to gain some sense of awareness. Maybe he could get some information out of the MPs before they wandered back to wherever they had come from.

It did not take the MP guards to make another pass after locking the jail door for Athena's cell shut, one of them even stopped to address Blackburn personally while his counterpart continued down the hall.

"So, you feeling more awake now? You were not very responsive this morning, Blackburn."

Blackburn did not know the man but he seemed to address the officer's name with a hint of sarcastic annoyance. Maybe Blackburn had created a ruckus in the car while on the way back to the MP headquarters.

"What do you want from me? Why are Athena and I being held?"

"Funny, I thought you could answer that question for yourself. You're being held for drug smuggling, plain and simple." The man stated to Blackburn, the guy's mask and goggles made it impossible to distinguish his expression.

"What drugs?"

The man pulled out his phone and started to swipe away at it with some difficulty from his thick glove. After some aggressive sliding, the man showed Blackburn a photo of piles of white pouches stacked by the crate load.

"What is that?" Blackburn asked knowing that they were drugs but trying to get the man to explain his words.

"The drugs we traced back to you." Blackburn wanted to scowl at that remark but he remained stoic since that was an answer he was expecting.

"I didn't smuggle any drugs."

"Sure, you didn't. Well, whatever, it will come out eventually." The MP stated uncaringly. Blackburn assumed he was the MP platoon leader who had invaded his home earlier. The man quickly turned and followed his black-clad companion. The security gate to the prison cells was closed seconds later with a reasonable smash.

There was silence in the jail hall, no convict spoke a word and no voice called foul. There was only silence and the rapping of overhead fans and the terrible radiator that needed replacing. It was a typical silence when a person was alone and they listened into the world around them and the smallest details stood out.

During his passage down the halls of the jail cells, Blackburn had noted a lack of other prisoners. It wasn't a surprise but it was kind of embarrassing to be that one person to be locked in a prison, especially for something they did not do. Even with Athena in prison with Blackburn, they were on their own. The two officers could not see one another but Blackburn swore he could feel Athena's presence in the jail, to the point that he could hear her slow, methodical breathing.

The young male officer waited a bit hoping for a conversation starter to salvage the frozen feeling of the room. Athena was the vocal individual in their partnership allowing Blackburn to be the thinker.

"Andrew…what is this even about?" It took her a bit but the woman's voice flew through the air lazily that brought an image of her tired face to Blackburn's mind.

"I really don't know. You got an idea?" Blackburn replied, his voice was equally tired.

There was a moment of silence between the two officers with two simultaneous sighs of distaste at their current situation. The cold and depression were contagious in prison.

"Well, I do have a theory based on what that guy said."

There was little response from the hidden Athena except an affirmative humph that told the male officer to continue.

"The guy said that we were responsible for drug smuggling. My immediate assumption is that this is either a test or we've been wrongly accused." Blackburn explained to his girlfriend.

Athena's reply was a bit off-putting but understandable. "So, let's just get this out of the way. You both did not smuggle any drugs and we're not involved in any drug-trafficking that you know of?"

"Pretty much," Blackburn simply replied, "I did not traffic any drugs. So, just making sure you did not, did you?"

"No. Really? Is that a question?" Athena asked in a casual offense.

There wasn't really a reason for either to ask due to the closeness, however, it morally helped to confirm the truth. That would be something Athena would tell Blackburn. Blackburn kind of blew off the question as a precaution. "Hey. Just asking for the sake of asking." Blackburn said nonchalantly.

"So; then what is responsible for this?"

"I really don't know."

The two were once again quiet, contemplating their next words, and moves. They were practically drawing on blanks.

"You got any crazy theories?" Blackburn asked Athena as he laid back down on the prison bench.

"Aliens?" Athena asked, half joking and half considering. At this point, anything was really possible.

"Don't even," Blackburn replied humorously.

"Sure. Any others?"

"Well…it could have been another person and they had us, framed?" Blackburn asked curiously. It was a solid theory since nothing else really added up.

"Oh, how original!" Athena cheered sarcastically; Blackburn's statement was pretty obvious.

They really were at a dead end with ideas here and there wasn't much they could do to pass the time. Blackburn didn't know how long he had been in the prison. He just remembered it had been dark when he arrived and the sun was higher in the sky now. Not quite noon but an hour or so before and Athena had arrived minutes before. In their current situation, they would be left with the option of waiting till a superior officer found the time to drag them out or a major development comes up; hopefully, proof that they were innocent of all potential charges.

"What time do you remember being grabbed from your place and what happened?" Blackburn asked his girlfriend.

"Seven, about. Knocked down my door while I was still sleeping. I went for my service knife on the nightstand as they barged through my flat. They brought down my bedroom door and pointed an AR at me. I told them to get out of my house, they told me to drop the knife which I quickly did. They restrained me, might I mention half-naked, and told me to get out the door. I told them that I needed a shirt and they complied and now here we are." Athena explained, annoyed at the retelling.

"Interesting. They got me at four when it was still dark out. Brought down my door and ordered me out when I went to the door to see what type of shit they were doing to my loft. Fuck those MPs by the way. They said something about a sting operation and then everything else kind of blurred together between walking across the asphalt barefoot and having my face planted on the hood of a suburban. I've been here the rest of the time." Blackburn retold his own arrest in a similarly short fashion.

"You ever question where they went in-between?" Athena asked out of curiosity.

"I assumed they went for donuts, I really don't know. Those two MPs were the same guys that broke into your house right?" Blackburn responded sarcastically but his mind was already racing to connect some of the dots.

"Yeah, they were. Why?" Athena said wanting to hear her fellow officer's theory.

"Same guys that got me. That leaves us with a two-hour time frame for them to go and grab you after me between planning and travel time." Blackburn said starting to consider all the factors of the house calls.

"I really don't know. Nothing adds up here." Athena's statement was on point. There really was an emphasis on unknown variables and hopelessness in the room, nothing made any sense. It just threw Blackburn into a confusing loop.

"I think I'm gonna to go back to counting the ceiling tiles now," Blackburn stated, referring to his original pastime.

"You do that," Athena spoke from her own cell; she knew exactly what her boyfriend meant when he spoke about the ceiling.

It took another good hour or so before the MPs decided to get back to work. Blackburn had counted three hundred and twenty-four tiles in the ceiling, might he mention a perfect square, when the security gate was heard slamming down the hall. The Military Police assholes were back to play with the lives of Athena and Blackburn once again, what a fun day it had been.

The MPs had come in force: two fireteams worth of Navy sailors dressed in their typical blue digies were encased in total black combat gear and their faces were obscured behind thick goggles and face wraps. They were nothing short of menacing. Their weapons, German developed M416 and the arguably ancient MP5, a weapon on its way out of service.

Blackburn could not help but feel a bit nervous at the sight of heavily armed guards, it felt more like a firing squad than an escort team. What were these guys expecting from two disgraced military officers in plain undies? Their loadout upgrades seemed a bit irrational though it was more irrational that Blackburn hadn't freaked out by his predicament of being in prison. He still lacked any idea where the drugs came from.

Athena and Blackburn were told to stand up and exit their cages slowly as the doors were unlocked and their cuffs unchained. Two white trash bag was brought out and tossed to each officer.

Blackburn looked in his bag after taking his catch. The trash bag contained his hastily-grabbed Tactical Work Uniform, the Navy TWU or simply his digital blues. They were wrinkled along with a pair of black work boots.

"Uniforms?" Athena asked.

"You're leaving for PACOM, get dressed." The lead MP stated blatantly, he didn't seem pleased.

There was only silence between Blackburn, Athena, and their watchful guards. There was no decency between regulation and time constraints as the pair of officers changed in front of the MPs, somewhere deep down, Blackburn knew that they had an opinion of this situation taking place before them. It was a common trope to assume that soldiers weren't paid to think, therefore they didn't. That was a wrong belief; soldiers were flesh and blood humans and had the same ability to think and judge as everyone else did. Maybe even more so from a unique perspective on the world.

There was an unspoken patience between the pair of officers and the Military Police. Blackburn and Athena did what they were told; there wasn't any room for arguments and the stillness and annoyance in the lead MP's voice suggested that the leader strongly disliked the so-called criminals before him, maybe he was a stickler for the law or maybe drug smugglers were below his moral respect. If Blackburn had been in the same position as the MP, he was sure that his opinion would be very similar to the MP.

"We gotta go. We don't have all day!" The MP barked once the two officers were fully dressed.

The escort, eight men in total along with their two prisoners, marched down a number of long cheaply painted hallways of white before exiting out into the daylight of the tropical Hawaiian Islands; the glare of the sun blinded Blackburn and made his girlfriend sneeze quietly.

"Bless you," Blackburn stated silently.

"I think we need more than a blessing in this situation," Athena replied.

"Yeah, our luck sucks."

There was a convoy of three Police SUVs parked along the pavement. A trio of FBI agents was also present, Blackburn had been expecting ATF agents due to the supposed sting operation but it seems the Bureau was deep in this case which made the young man freak out a little as they approached. The CIA was notorious for their involvement but the FBI was considered just as bad.

"Mr. Blackburn and Ms. Lin, please step into the vehicle." One FBI agent stated as he opened the door to one of the black SUVs. There was quick glance between the couple before complying with the agent. All the words had been drained from Athena and Blackburn, they had nothing to say at this point and they didn't know how the next few hours were going to go down so at the current rate, they were playing the waiting game to see what would happen next.

The SUVs were locked down, the FBI and MP escort entered their rides and the convoy was off speeding past Pearl Harbor's scenic sights. Athena didn't look at Blackburn during the entire trip, focusing more on the beach, trees, and water out the window; the girl wasn't known for being a deep thinker but she had her moments where she would disappear off into her own little world. It was a more prevalent case for Blackburn but Athena was capable of it too.

It took about fifteen minutes to arrive at Camp H.M. Smith, the command center for US Pacific Command, and Blackburn's place of work. The sun was still a bit low in the sky and the work day had yet to begin. The officers of USPACOM didn't arrive on site for at least another half hour where they usually began work around ten in the morning. It was still a bit after nine.

The building was a multi-storied office building painted a dim clay red with a tilted roof. It was built into the side of a small hill and looked like a giant agricultural hut in Africa. The three police vans quickly pulled up to the front of the building and the officers were ordered out with their escort, now fewer than two men per sailor, and ordered to march into the building.

Athena and Blackburn climbed an extensive flight of stairs to enter the building and the two were quickly separated at the empty lobby and guided off to their separate hearings.

"Time to go see the Admiral, LT." The MP stated to Blackburn who only scowled back at the police officer.

The group arrived at a separate office space following an uneventful elevator arrive at the top floor of the PACOM building. On the top of the door, the officer occupying the office was written proud and clear. "Admiral Nathaniel R.D. Lincoln, USSOCOM, United States Navy – Temporary Headquarters."

This was the office of the Special Operations Command Operations Chief, commander of USSOCOM and Blackburn's personal friend and superior officer. He was the man to jumpstart Blackburn's naval career and a father figure for the young man; if anyone could save Blackburn's skin, it would be him.

The FBI agent knocked three solid times on the wooden door before a muffled voice replied back. "Come in."

The agents marched Blackburn into the office space, a spacious office built around a single oak wood desk at its center. There was a large, vertical holographic display on the left side of the room and rows of stacked bookshelves on the right. It wasn't a cramped office but it did appear lived in with a kind of a mix between anarchy and organized chaos. The good Admiral Lincoln wasn't well known for the neat streak that had defined his office in the last two years. The cleaning had been among Blackburn's personal work as a mission planner and sometimes a secretary of sorts for Lincoln since arriving under the Admiral's command in 2020.

The Admiral himself had been pacing before Blackburn's arrival as he turned to face the three men now in his office. Blackburn, the MP, and the FBI agent stood at attention before the SOCOM commander.

There was an awkward tension built into the room that was only reinforced by a half-hearted "At ease," from the Admiral who stared down his subordinate that made Blackburn's skin crawl, it seemed the Admiral wasn't happy.

Seeing Blackburn march into the office guided by FBI and Military Police had made the man clench up. Not in favor of Blackburn however, he wasn't interested in that. He stopped thinking and seemed to make a final decision before putting in the back of his mind. The man had been considering Blackburn's case then. Well, that was just great. Blackburn was fucked.

The young sailor moved to the front of the Admiral's desk. He wasn't going to play the subordinate this time; if he was going down, he was going down swinging. Or, at least, that was the idea. He was about to start the discussion on a single outstretched hand from Lincoln silenced him, Blackburn went rigid.

The older man did not sit and he simply stared at his subordinate officer. "So, this is how it's gonna to be."

"I didn't do it," Blackburn replied quickly, knowing where the accusation was going.

"That will be decided in the military court. I'm appalled this is what you got yourself involved in. You're a United States Naval Officer, you were on your way toward a Captain commission and you go and fuck it up." That point actually hurt, Blackburn had expressed his personal wish to command his own boat and to be a part of the senior naval command structure. He had been working so hard toward it in recent months and now something he had nothing to do with, screwed up his entire career. There was still the possibility that he could turn the tide and get the real person found but for that he needed the help of the Navy's leadership, he needed to make his case clear.

"You don't get it! I didn't do-!" Blackburn was cut off once again by his superior's outstretched hand.

"No. You don't get it. They've already got you – the Bureau has had its eye on you for months. I was informed this morning about the opium you've been smuggling through the Philippines, you think we weren't going to find out?" The Admiral shook his head and took a seat, his eyes refused to leave the Lieutenant. "I don't want to hear any back talk from you; now, you listen. As of today, you're done. You are no longer a commissioned officer in the United States Navy. You are no longer a part of my command. You are no longer under the jurisdiction of the Department of the Navy. You have disgraced the Fleet and you have disgraced me. I brought you onto my Staff because you said you wanted to make the world a better place. You said you want to do good; well, look at how well that turned out. You wiill face the brass and you will face the music."

Blackburn didn't dare reply. When Lincoln made a decision, it was rare if ever that he changed his position. In some circles, a compromise might seem weak, but it is among one of the strongest positions to hold in a conflict. The ability to discuss, learn and negotiate – it's most useful in politics even if most citizens don't seem to understand that. In the military, like a number of other fields where compromise doesn't fit, it helps to be decisive and to refuse to negotiate because it puts you in a place of strength over those that cannot fight back. However, at this time, it was a moment of weakness because it could be the very moment that would decide whether the falsely accused would manage an out.

"I'm disappointed in you Lieutenant. I'm disappointed in you Andrew Blackburn. You've broke every substantial code of our Armed Forces short of treason, you've shamed yourself and you've shamed the Armed Forces. You have been charged with illegal drug trafficking, conduct unbecoming of an officer, wrongful possession of controlled substances with a number of related sub notices, you've breached your code of conduct and you've betrayed my trust in you to do your job as a United States Officer. You will be sent back to the MPs and your property will be confiscated until official termination of your contract. You and your fellow officer will have plenty to discuss in due time. Get the fuck out of my sight."

The Admiral turned to his computer and nodded for the FBI and MP escorts to take Blackburn out of his office. He didn't even look as his subordinate squinted his eyes in anger at his superior. Blackburn saluted the Admiral, did an about-face and marched out of the room, led by the FBI agent from before.

As soon as Blackburn left, Lincoln let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. This had been a tiring week with all the planning and dealing with the fiasco with Blackburn, one he was pretty sure he had fucked up. The Admiral had wanted to let him off easy but he had stumbled and decided to go with the harsh option since it would be the quickest and easiest way to let the kid off and chase him out of the military. The Admiral needed Blackburn out and to create the situation necessary for the future. That kid had a lot of potential; he had made the decision long ago that he would make sure they would be used in a place more appropriate than the Navy.

If Blackburn had paid more attention to the computer, he may have managed to grab a few words from the laptop's reflection through the window behind Admiral Lincoln. There was a completed and sent email on screen, one sent forty-eight hours ago with a reply.

 _ **PRIORITY EMAIL:**_

 _Dear DOHS#SHD.001,_

 _I've made a selection of eight potential agents available from the United States Navy roster for recruitment into the Strategic Homeland Division._

 _I've already gathered all the necessary personnel dossiers and paperwork. They each have their own recruitment timetables as you asked, however, the ones based at Honolulu will need an escort and a more hands-on approach due to special circumstances related to their personal lives. The false flag op has begun and I need one of your agents on station for the transfer; you know who they are. With the plan, you gave me and if your agent is as good as you say he is at manipulation, then we shouldn't have any issue._

 _They will have nowhere to turn to after this. Their relationship with the United States Armed Forces is over, they're your agents from here on out. Make sure they do well and take care of them. It would be wasted potential if they failed, Lin and Blackburn had potentially stellar futures in the Fleet, but I understand what you needed. Contingency takes priority, the Secretary made that clear all those years back. Don't disappoint me on this one; that kid is like the son I never had, he doesn't deserve to go through this. For that matter, neither does the girl._

 _Don't screw this up._

 _Admiral Nathaniel Lincoln,_

 _USSOCOM Operations Chief, United States Navy_

 _ **PRIORITY REPLY:**_

 _Dear USN#USSOCOM.001,_

 _Our recruiters have made contact in San Diego, Pensacola, and Boston in a timely fashion. All potential recruits have been brought into the fold successfully. Don't doubt my people's abilities to persuade. It's not every day you get asked to become a spy either; well, not really a spy but you get the point._

 _We've given the Bureau the tip, Naval MPs will commence operating procedure at three-hundred-thirty hours. My man arrived on base yesterday, he's former CIA, one of our top recruiters. Don't worry about persuading your people. As long as you do your job and play the cards right, they'll be in our care by tomorrow night. You've helped us a lot through the years, don't worry, your people will do fine here._

 _The Division takes care of its own, even if we have to maintain constant deniability and operate from the shadows. We don't get the largest budget for sustainment and nourishment, but we make do. After all, it's your company that does the heavy lifting. I heard you guys received cloaks recently for your Spec Ops. Would it hurt for you to make some requests to get us some too? We may not have the same proficiency or training that your Special Forces Groups get but our operators are some of the finest in the world. They don't train armies but they sure know how to kill them._

 _They know how to fight. Time in the Sandbox gave us enough experience to build a doctrine that meets our needs. We are like wolves, Admiral. Don't doubt our ability to make good soldiers._

 _We pull from the best._

 _Director Bethany Chase,_

 _SHD Project Lead, Department of Homeland Security_

Blackburn threw the eagle once they were out in the hall. The MPs and FBI didn't even flinch or react to the vulgar move but it was clear that they didn't care about the events taking place before them. They were people but they were trained not to care about their wards, especially criminals. They don't immediately empathize with anyone, and they sure were not going to with Blackburn after the word "drug trafficker" had been thrown on to his name. He was seriously fucked.

There was another uneventful elevator ride back to the lobby at ground level and Blackburn was once back in the sunlight. He blinked rapidly as a blue glare flashed in his eyes and made his spine tingle, the sunlight was intense given the officer's constant change of scenery. It took a few seconds for Blackburn to adjust but his vision eventually cleared.

The trio, two guards, and their escort had halted before the steps to the parking lot and Athena was nowhere in sight, maybe she had already returned to the truck. Either that or she was still in a conference. There was a man leaning against a stone column near the PACOM entrance wearing thick Aviator sunglasses; Blackburn couldn't see his eyes but he felt their gaze on him as he stopped.

The two guards watched the oddly placed gentleman stride out in front of the MP and the FBI agent without a care for the world. He was sorely out-of-place compared to the American command center and the guards all around Blackburn, the Aviator man wore a suit top and red tie and looked like a regular businessman except for his random cargo pants and sandals. He was something of a mix between a businessman and a tourist; there wasn't much that Blackburn could read off him from a simple glance but he was definitely looking for attention.

"Good morning gentlemen, you're relieved of caring for Mr. Blackburn here, I'll take over." The older man said he marched up real quick into the face of the FBI agent who snarled in response to the sudden closeness.

"We're taking him back to headquarters."

"No, you're not. He may be Navy but this case has been raised to an issue of national security. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency, I have official jurisdiction over this man. You can be on your way." The supposed CIA officer brought out an official-looking paper that was obscured from Blackburn's sight, it looked to at least have some sort of seal. The officer also brought out an office badge for the CIA that clearly identified the strangely-dressed man.

It took a few minutes of reading before the FBI agent just sighed to himself, motioned for the Navy MP to follow him as he passed the piece of paper back to the CIA officer and marched down the steps back to the SUV convoy. Blackburn was left to stand alone with the man from Central Intelligence in a very awkward situation.

"So…what's this about?"

The CIA officer was silent at first, not saying a word as he watched the police escorts pack up and leave.

"Funny creatures, those ones. They think as long as they are in the country, they have lawful jurisdiction over all security matters when they are really just the little brother trying to get a grasp on the ball in the backyard we've had a hand in since World War Two. They don't understand who they're dealing with," The man turned to Blackburn. "Where are my manners? Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackburn, I can't tell you my name but you can call me Agent."

"Okay?"

"Anyhow, I'm not actually from the CIA. I'm former Central Intelligence, I work for the Department of Homeland Security. Technically, I'm the boss of those FBI kids down there but they don't need to know that," Agent said as he pointed out the SUVs traveling back toward the bay. "You aren't in a good place right now Mr. Blackburn, we both know that. But I think I can help you find a way out of the hole you just dug yourself into."

"Wow, wait a second. I didn't dig any hole, I only found out I was trafficking drugs this morning. I don't even know where those drugs came from. I've been wrongly accused. So has Lieutenant Lin!" Blackburn yelled as he got real close to the one who called himself Agent.

"I can't help you there, son, we got a lot of evidence telling us otherwise. If you've been falsely accused, well, there isn't much you can do for yourself in this situation. The wet fleet isn't behind you and any form of backup you had is gone. In a civilian court, you might receive a fair trial but in a military court, yeah, you'll get a decent lawyer but he's biased to follow doctrine and protocol. You'll be dishonorably discharged, your name will be forever tarnished with the words liar and criminal. You'll lose everything to your name and when I mean everything, I also talking about the human element; your family and friends, your property and personal items, your money, so on - etc. You'll be done. Good luck finding a job after getting out of the slammer, you're practically screwed unless you take what I have to offer you right now. I'm giving you one chance to get yourself out of this mess so you better consider this quickly." Agent spoke rather quickly as he rattled off all sorts of worst-case scenarios that would make Blackburn's life a living hell. Trying to keep up with his words was a lost cause.

"You know? This feels more like a robbery rather than a chance for freedom, it feels like I'm being held at gunpoint. Fine, what's the offer, Mr. Agent?" Blackburn asked, conceding to the man's bleakly painted picture. The picture the man had drawn in his head wasn't a good one. Somewhere, someway, someone was playing that old James Bond theme song from the movie of the same name, Skyfall, in his the young naval officer's honor. It was as if a storm cloud had just appeared right over his head.

"I work for a subset of the Department of Homeland Security, we're a sort of clandestine unit responsible for protecting American society on the domestic front. While the other intelligence organizations and military units handle things up front, we're more behind the scenes. We're an emergency response organization; mostly in the event of natural and artificial disasters."

"That isn't very descriptive," Blackburn said looking a bit skeptical of the fake CIA agent.

"I kind of have to be a bit on the down-low on what we do since we're an off-the-books organization. Black Ops if you will, I can't tell you much more unless you agree to come with me."

"Seems kind of fishy. Tell me this first before we get into it, why me?" Why you looking for me, or at least I assume this is a job offer?" Agent grinned at the question, Blackburn was catching on.

"Yeah, this is a job offer. We like you based on your personal record but also because of the skills and talents you bring to the table, every member is different on an individual level but they all share the same motivations and the same job. If you want to know why you are personally of interest to us, it's because you're a thinker. You're very different from the rest of your generation, more independent and free-thinking. You have a background as a military officer and you scored well into the top bracket of your class for firearms and physical conditioning. You have excellent linguistic and engineering skills that could prove useful. Most of all, you're a patriot, you believe in your nation and its beliefs." Agent removed his sunglasses revealing green eyes of a once more vibrant man and put the glasses in his suit pocket. "We like what we see and we're interested in giving you a chance before you're lost in bureaucratic red tape."

"What about Athena? What happens to her, she's important to me and my decision; does she get the same offer?" Blackburn asked he knew that this was his last chance out but he wasn't going to leave his girlfriend, they had been through too much together and well, Blackburn wasn't going to leave her to face the fire alone.

"Well, agree and you'll find out. Come with me, my car is parked out in visitor parking." Agent replied not providing an answer.

"We go together. I'm no longer military it seems so I'm gonna to forgo protocol, we come as a team. You understand?" Blackburn asked again trying to get a clear response.

"As I said agree to my offer and I can tell you more on the way to the airport." The Agent replied in a flat voice, he was getting tired of this conversation; the government recruiter looked down at his watch to check the time.

"Alright. I agree to your thing!" Blackburn exclaimed in frustration, this guy wasn't giving him anything and had painted him into a corner. "Now tell me what's going to happen to me and Athena. Also, what is this organization?"

"Good choice. I'll tell you as we walk, we got to be back at the airport by eleven hundred hours sharp or my window for recruitment is gone and you go back to Port Authority. This way." Agent stated to Blackburn, leading the younger man off to the side toward a flight of stairs approaching the large parking lot to the east of the USPACOM building.

They walked a few paces and passed a few Navy officers who didn't give Blackburn more than a glance, surprised by the rather terrible fashion choice of the government recruiter. They were mere acquaintances to Blackburn and didn't realize the hectic morning the Lieutenant had dealt with since three.

"You want to give me that answer now?" The ex-navy officer asked impatiently.

"Fine, fine…I represent the Strategic Homeland Division, or Shade, for short. We're made up of government, military, intelligence, and private specialists under a military-styled apparatus reporting to key elements in the Executive Office including the Presidency, the Joint Chiefs, Secretary of State, and the Secretary of Homeland Security. We have a lot of bosses and our mission is widely diversified. Our operatives are in the line of civilian contractors who are activated during national security crises and provide their skills and expertise to response personnel while also maintaining law and order in lawless environments during potential anarchy and looting. We are kind of like civilian-soldiers if you will allow me to make that distinction. Your girlfriend took just about the same amount of time to persuade in joining, almost for the exact same concerns but she was a bit faster at taking the offer. She knows what she wants, smart girl."

"So I'll be working with her?" Blackburn asked skeptically, it was good to hear that she was in the same organization but at this point, they had been fried together, Blackburn didn't want to lose her to paperwork like in the Navy.

"We'll see." Agent simply replied.

The former officer and the SHD recruiter made it to the parking lot just as the majority of the base's officers were making it up the hill to the command center. Not a single man or woman gave the pair a second glance beside one to catch a glimpse at Agent's strange attire.

"As for your future; not that you asked but just so you are aware. We can't stop your discharge from coming through and we can't prevent this information from getting out. We can only prevent the trial since you will be protected by your new security clearance and contracting rank, the military can no longer touch you. Some of the pluses to being a part of Shade. As for the fact of your drug case, don't be surprised if your lifelong connections become severed, the lives you once had. Crime can do that to you. The people at the SHD tend to live very secluded lives or lives seemingly insignificant in the greater scheme of things, we have to make ourselves appear significant to do our job. Like black operations, our operations and our achievements are unknown and our existence will continue to be classified for the foreseeable future, we don't exist. Your discharge will go on record and probably top some news feeds for a bit but it won't last very long and no one will remember in a few weeks." Agent said to Blackburn as they approached a brand new Jeep sedan of some kind, a civilian car from a rental dealership, nothing significant. Athena could be seen jamming out to some obscure song on a phone with earbuds.

"So, this is my future?" Blackburn asked to no one in particular. His eyes drifted up to the sun and clouds overhead, he felt a bit like a protagonist of some terrible political drama with elements of tragedy. Maybe God was playing with him, making him the center of a late night SNL skit. It really did feel like he had become the universe's bitch for a time.

"Yep, for the foreseeable future kid," Agent stated patting Blackburn on the shoulder reassuringly before making his way to the driver side of the vehicle. Athena waved at the pair's approach which Blackburn replied with a simple open palm above his head.

Athena was sitting in the shotgun chair so the male officer quickly climbed into the back. Blackburn sat back on the seats and prepared for a long travel back to the States, at least, that was where he assumed they were going. He had practically assumed that all his property was right now in military custody, which meant it would be a while before he saw it again if he ever would.

Agent's last words as he started the sedan would define the next few years of Blackburn's life, "Welcome to the Division."


End file.
